The sun burned the fog but the fog persisted. The sun faded. Twilit clouds of birds, each spreading its wings, alighted on the lake’s surface. The trickling darkness encouraged the bird-clouds and the crickets, whose chirping rippled the water.
There was no more sun. There were no more people.
The crickets sang about wanting wide wings, too, like the birds, which kept descending in columns until the last bird found the last patch of lake and the crickets came out to see a lake of birds, as the birds looked at the crickets covering the land and vegetation, forming a landscape of crickets.
Musk Ox is a Canadian Neofolk band from Ottawa. They play dark and beautiful chamber music. Their self-titled debut album came out in 2007. Their second, Woodfall, came out this June.
Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows and through curtains call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late schoolboys and sour ‘prentices,
Go tell court huntsmen that the King will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices;
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
Thy beams, so reverend and strong
Why shoulds’t thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long;
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and tomorrow late, tell me,
Whether both th’Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou left’st them, or lie here with me?
Ask for those kings whom thou saw’st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, ‘All here in one bed lay.’
She’s all states, and all princes, I;
Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compared to this,
All honour’s mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world’s contracted thus;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that’s done in warming us.
Shine here, to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy centre is, these walls, thy sphere.
“The Sun Rising” by John Donne